This country's so hell bent on perfection (perfect bodies, minds, spirit, etc.) I've come to find myself embracing the most human reveal of all: imperfection.
What separates us from the Coke can? We're full of dents bumps and wrinkles. We don't always have fizz. We go flat. We never taste the same way twice, and we smoke, drink, and fuck. How's that for better?
I'd like to teach the world to sing. In their own voice, whine and screech. Depth and dolt. Depression, despair, grief, disability – all of it. What separates us from the animal is memory – and so much more separates us from the machine.
How could we have forgotten this? Every image bombarded our way has been perfected; we now have humans preaching consumerism of the self in every way imaginable. Look this way; this cut; this sculpt; this Botox; don't move your forehead, even; act like you're on TV. Be plastic, be fake.
Well here's the gist. The more I'm told to be perfect, look perfect, eat only protein; drink only water; meditate every day; don't get angry, lustful, mean, jealous, happy, sad; don't dream; the more I will gravitate to the mess, the swampy fertile organic mess out of which humanity springs.
Bring it on. More toxicity. More tears. More pain. More struggle. More mistakes, so many more mistakes! I am human, hear me fail!